I shall not attempt to describe the blackness in my breast as I sallied forth from the President's palace--Don Eusebio by my side. Directed by the general, he had placed his affair in my hands, and himself at my disposal. The announcement of his name had caused me an acute pain--the agony of a reopened wound. And the pain came not from the story I had heard. It was not the thought that Dolores--for it was no more Mercedes--that Dolores Villa-Senor was in the keeping of brutal brigands! It had pained me as much--perhaps more--to think of her in the keeping of Francisco Moreno! Truth compels me to the sad, disgraceful confession: that I listened to the tale with a sort of satisfaction! Jealousy was still alive--anger not dead--within my heart! Though remembered with reluctance, too keenly did I feel the slight that had been put upon me. The ungentle thought did not for long control me. Soon was it succeeded by one purer and holier--sprung from such chivalry as I possessed. A weak woman in the power of wild, wanton men--two of them, for that matter; though I thought but of one--borne off by brigands to some hideous haunt--some scene of lascivious revel! They were horrid fancies that came crowding upon me. They drove jealousy out of my heart, and along with it my senseless anger. These gone, I became inspired by a slight, scarcely definable, pleasure--like the distant re-dawning of a hope that has been for a time extinguished. What if I should be the means of rescuing Dolores Villa-Senor from the hands of her worse than savage captors--of saving her from a life-long shame? Might not the gratitude, called forth by such a deed, become changed to that other feeling, I had once fondly fancied to have been entertained in my favour? I could have risked everything--life itself--to bring about such a revolution! After all, had I not been too precipitate in my conclusions? Was it certain she had surrendered her heart--her _whole_ heart--to Francisco Moreno? The episode in the Alameda--of which I had been a spectator--might it not have been but a bit of flirtation, deftly practised by Spanish dames, and oft without serious intent, or termination? Or might it have been only a chapter of coquetry--myself the object aimed at? Consoling thoughts--well calculated to stir me to energetic action! Don Eusebio might have been surprised at my ardent espousal of his cause! He was at least affected by it. Entirely unsuspicious of my motive for questioning him, he not only gave me an unreserved account of the robbery upon the road, but made me the confidant of more than one family secret. One gave me something more than a surprise. It caused the renewal of my chagrin. "In your interview with the general," I said, "you spoke of some important matter that was bringing you to the capital. May I be told it? Excuse me for asking: but in the performance of my duty it may be necessary for me to know what was the object of your journey."